


The Silence in Between

by lost_spook



Category: Public Eye (TV)
Genre: Community: hc_bingo, Episode: s06e10 It's A Woman's Privilege, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-08
Updated: 2014-07-08
Packaged: 2018-02-04 12:03:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1778359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lost_spook/pseuds/lost_spook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The hardest thing is when the conversation stops at the other end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Silence in Between

**Author's Note:**

> For the "estrangement" square at Hurt/Comfort bingo 2014.

When Denis leaves her, it hurts, but it’s when he comes back, years after, that Helen realises how much they were strangers all along. She knows him now and all he is, better than before (understanding came both gradually over time and suddenly in retrospect) but he only proves that he doesn’t know her any more; that in many ways he never did.

This time, she can tell him to go. It’s at once terrifying and the best thing she’s ever done.

*

With Frank, it’s different. He tells her to her face for one thing; she doesn’t wake one morning to a note. That it happens now, when she’d begun to count his continued presence a certainty, that’s a shock, but she’s always known the risk. 

She’s fine, of course, if anyone asks, she always is. And it’s true, she’s plenty to do and she’s not alone, with her paying guests coming and going in the house. But there’s no one to talk to again, and she notices it now more sharply than before, because she’d only lately learned how it felt to have someone who took an interest.

She phones him once at his office in Windsor. She’s careful to be light, casual, only asking if the move went well, checking that she’s got the right number. He says that it’s working out, and, yes, it’s the right number or he’s on the wrong phone, but he’s in a hurry and whether it’s that or other things, she feels the distance between them measured in something more than miles. She writes once or twice, but there are no replies. She’s been politely pushed away, relegated to a mere acquaintance. 

With anyone else, she’d be angry, but she knows, with Frank, the surprise isn’t that he left her, it’s that he stayed at all. From things he’s said, she suspects it may be the first time he’s stayed that long with anyone in his adult life. Friendship of any sort is rare in his life, let alone love.

It still hurts, though. 

She’s sure she’ll hear from him at some point; she has faith in him. She carries on with her life, with work, with friends, with her sister and her son, with legal affairs – it suits Denis to divorce her now – and she’s fine, she’s always fine. 

In summer, she sends a postcard: a casual contact that demands nothing in return, a small joke. She writes that’s she’s well as ever, hopes he is, too, and that they’ve been enjoying their annual week of summer here in Brighton. She writes nothing that could alarm, not even ‘wish you were here’, though she does.

When she pops it into a post-box, it feels as if she’s sending a message in a bottle that might merely sink out in the ocean before it reaches him. And there is, she wryly acknowledges, about as much chance of a reply.

The second year is easier, because she stops expecting to hear anything. She’s occupied with Nick, her son, and his troubles, things Frank knows nothing about, because he isn’t here. On occasions, she even talks to herself in the kitchen instead.

She doesn't forget, though. She worries about him: he could be in trouble again, his business could have fallen through, he might be ill, he could have been hurt by someone. With Frank, all of these things are possible. He’s probably fine, of course, but she is aware, that despite the long silence between them she’s still very likely the only person who’d stop to concern herself about him and that means she can’t entirely let go, whatever he may wish. It’s just difficult to find a way to bridge the gap. She doesn’t want to scare him into running somewhere else with no forwarding address. Anyway, she believes that people have got to live their own lives, and make their own decisions. You can’t interfere too much.

In the summer, she meets Jim Hull on the sea front. He asks after Frank, and she doesn’t lie, she does the only thing she ever does and falls on her own sword of truth. She tells him that she hasn’t heard from Frank, and then asks him about his family and work (he’s chief probation officer now) before there’s time for him to pity her. He’s too kind a man to say I told you so, though he did. But Helen still believes she was right, and he was wrong, because it’s better to try. She hopes. She thinks some days that she made things worse, not better, and that’s the hardest thing of all.

*

Next it’s her son Nick who’s not speaking to her, though that won’t last – they’ll make it up soon enough. She’s afraid, though, that it might take long enough to do the damage. She’s worried about what he’s got himself into, the man he’s gone into business with, that house he can’t afford. She couldn’t keep from telling Nick so – and now he’s refusing to speak to her.

It is, however, a reason to find Frank again, because this is the sort of thing he does – background checks on people who might be a business risk, finding out information. He might be able to help.

She wonders about the two years that’s fallen between them, she doesn’t know how he’ll react on seeing her, but none of that matters when she arrives. All he says is that it’s nice to see her (twice at least), and all she says is that she was quite looking forward to seeing him, too, but neither of them can keep their pleasure hidden. Whatever the reason for the silence, it’s not that he doesn’t care. There’s a little awkwardness, some guilt, some hurt that they skate around, but he’s kept the mug she gave him and remembered silly things she’d said; she points out in return that two years is a long time.

They fall back into familiar rhythms within minutes. It’s not quite as it was, but neither of them have changed all that much. Frank’s office certainly hasn’t – it’s just as run down as the one he had in Brighton. (Is this what he left her for? Is this how he prefers it? It hurts again, but only in passing.)

*

The chance to talk her worries over is almost enough in itself. By the time she reaches her sister’s again, she’s convinced she’s been foolish. Nick’s a sensible lad; he can take care of himself. She shouldn’t have asked Frank to intervene – as he’d said, it isn’t his business. You can’t interfere in other people’s lives, even when you want to. It was unfair to ask.

She decides to return to Windsor and save Frank the trouble. Her sister points out, somewhat amused, that she could phone, but Helen insists. If she’s made a mistake, better go and put things right now. 

(“To and fro like a shuttlecock,” she says when she finds him outside his office. “You must think I’m mad.”

“No, no,” he says and seems to mean it. “I’m delighted. Haven’t seen you for ages, have I?”)

She tells him then, in the pub, that she’s decided she was being silly, that Nick can look after himself, and she should never have asked Frank to interfere.

He tells her that she was right all along. And that he might have done more than interfere.

*

“Frank,” Helen says outside the pub, catching at his arm, causing him to turn with an enquiring glance. “Thank you.” And since he kissed her when she arrived, as if it was a thing they did (it isn’t), she stretches up to give him a peck on the cheek in return.

That done, she returns to the matter in hand. “And now I must speak to Nick.”

“Use my phone,” Frank says, and ushers her back along the street. It’s hardly any distance to his office from here. “You sure?” he adds, after a pause. “You don’t think you should leave it a bit?”

Helen gives him a look that’s all _that_ suggestion merits, and even in the dusk, he gets the message and moves forward to unlock the office door for her, and they both walk back in.

“Only saying – if he’s still not speaking to you –” But he’s passing the phone receiver over already.

“Oh, Frank,” Helen says, fishing in her handbook for her address book. “As if I’ll let him when I know he’s in trouble. Anyway, he’ll speak to me. If nothing else, they’re going to need a hand with the packing!”

They both laugh and there’s no distance between them. They aren’t strangers; their friendship stands. You can’t erase time, or pretend that things haven’t been broken, but, like the mug she gave him, you can mend things even when they looked past their last prayer.

“You’re all right?” Frank says, watching her with concern, as he leans on the edge of his desk. “Must have been a bit of a shock.”

Helen smiles at him and nods as she dials the number (ending another silence, closing the distance again).

“Sure?” 

“Yes,” she says, as the telephone rings, and she smiles at him. She’s fine, she’s always fine, but particularly so this evening.


End file.
